


The Aftermath

by Vexatively



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke-centric, F/M, Post-Episode: s02e12 Rubicon, lady friendships!, omg that episode killed me though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3367115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexatively/pseuds/Vexatively
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke may have to bear the consequences of her decisions, but if that means putting up with them <i>alive</i>, then it’s a burden she’ll gratefully carry.</p><p>Post Episode 2x12, Rubicon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath

Not even 30 minutes after the last body hit the blood specked ground outside the entrance of Mount Weather—

> _male, mid-30s, part of Mount Weather’s militia, and carrying the marrow of one of the 3 who died_

— Clarke tells Abby she wants to move out.

“I’m still in charge,” she says calmly, and after all that’s happened it’s a miracle she’s not a broken wreck in a corner of the Ark. “The— the decisions I made, I can’t run away from that. That wouldn’t be fair to Finn, to Raven, to Octavia, to…”

> _he still hasn’t talked to her, hasn’t sought her out, hasn’t looked at her since finding out about Ton D.C. because she tells Abby not to tell anyone but of_ course _she’s going to tell Bellamy_

“… to Bellamy. But Mom, I’m not staying in the Ark. Earth needs a commander, but the Ark… the Ark needs its Chancellor.”

> _“how do we survive now that there are more people? we don’t have enough supplies” angry yells and the Arkers haven’t found a way to fit into the grooves where other people end, unlike her 100_
> 
> _and Abby and Jackson and Clarke are still carting around half-dead Grounders and the wounded from the battle of Mount Weather into the infirmary while barking orders to the volunteering healers sent by Lexa_

Abby is clearly hesitant, she worries at her bottom lip and looks at Clarke like she’ll break and invade Mount Weather again. She knows how her daughter is like on her crusade now, wonders how she’d be able to cope alone. There are words said that she regrets but can’t take back now and—

> _heavy is the head that lies the crown._

In the end, the choice is not hers to make.

* * *

Her mind’s quieter now.

She picks a clearing amidst a clear copse of trees in the forest. It’s a weird equilateral triangle between the Dropsite and the Ark. She tries not to think about how it was closer to the _Trigadekru_ camp, too, like she’s become Frankenstein’s monster, made up of the worst parts of them all— _Skaikru_ and _Trikru_.

Clarke’s not stupid, she knows the area is dangerous. Her encounter with the apelike beast, and Major Byrne’s fall at its hands more than proves that. So she’s claimed the Dropsite as a temporary base of operations while clearing and fortifying the clearing.

It’s hard work, but it’s something to keep her hands occupied and she’s grateful that she’s not needed, at least for a little while.

* * *

Raven arrives at the end of the third day, hauling several too-large bags over her shoulders. Her strides, leg bracketed by her leg brace, seem almost natural now, Wick’s modifications adapting to the terrain and her gait. The engineer in question trails behind with what looks like one of the Ark’s self-sustaining generators.

Raven clears her throat, affecting a voice that was determinedly non-wheezy. “When you’re a mechanic, it’s a _lot_ harder to just get up and leave.”

“Raven, you can’t leave the Ark. They need you.”

Clarke knows Raven doesn’t take well to people telling her what to do, but maybe if Raven remembers how bossy she is, it’ll just help her case.

Raven tries to give a one-shouldered shrug, but it’s hampered by her luggage. She promptly sets everything down and starts bringing her loot back up to the Dropship, dragging bags with her clothes and necessities in careless trails in the dirt, but carefully cradling heavier pieces of tech in her arms.

“Clarke, I can do that just as well from here. Besides, Wick’s not staying.” She throws a pointed look over her shoulder. “He’s just helping me with the lighter loads.”

Wick raises his hands, placating them both. “Look, Clarke, nobody could convince her otherwise, and Chancellor Griffin knows better than to try. Besides, you’re barely more than half a day’s walk away from the Ark as it is, and Raven’s been driving everyone crazy.”

“ _Wick_ ,” Clarke says, warningly. “You know Raven listens to you.”

Wick’s responding smile attempts to be enigmatic. “ _Clarke_. You know that’s not true. Now if you’ll excuse me, the clouds that have been stirring up ahead don’t look promising, and I have to get the generator indoors.”

Clarke makes her way over to the entrance of the Dropship, where she can hear Raven shuffle around and organize the newly delivered gear with an impressively fluent string of profanities. Her hand parts the heavy-duty tarp at its entrance.

She lingers at the doorway, just wordlessly regarding Raven for a while, before Clarke breaks the silence.

 “I killed Finn.”

From the corner of her eye, Clarke sees Wick still, but keeps his gaze firmly away from them both. She’s grateful, she knows he had helped Raven during the in-between of Finn’s death and their leaving for Ton D.C. Clarke knows he can be the support that Raven needs when she returns to the Ark, because their awkward truce can’t last forever, and staying close to Finn’s murderer has to be eating at her.

Raven stills, too.

They’ve had an uneasy relationship, first when it was defined by the same boy’s love, and then when it was defined by his death. In the in-between, though, they’ve learned to respect each other, define themselves independently of Finn.

Clarke needed Raven’s skills, but she needed her self-assured grins and steady hands more. Raven needed Clarke to keep everyone safe, and it’s hard to tell if she’s done that, when Clarke had brokered peace with Finn’s blood still slick on her palms and under her nails.

“I know that,” and Raven’s trying too hard to keep her voice even and failing, because _Finn had been her world_ , “but you also loved him, and is it fucked up that I hate you more because you made him happier than I ever could?”

Raven meets her eyes now, and she’s no longer trying to look away or keep her voice even.

“The thing about Finn is that, despite the shit he did in Ton D.C., he cared about everyone. He’s— he was the peace-maker, Clarke, and it might have been important to him that he was saving you and me, but it mattered to him that he was sparing the rest of the Ark from death at the Grounder’s hands, too. _He’s_ the reason that we have our peace with the Grounders right now.”

Raven’s voice lowers. “And _you’re_ the reason he didn’t have to share Gustus’ fate.”

Clarke’s reminded of his face, clean and bright before he was stained by earth and blood, telling her that _he had found a way to make peace with the Grounders_. And he had in the end.

A hand reaches out to grasp Clarke’s shoulder. “You brought everyone back home safe, Clarke, and Earth knows why I give a shit about that ragtag bunch of misfits when all I cared about getting here was finding Finn. What we’ve been through was hell, and you and Bellamy got us all out and you can’t do that without feeling a little like a family.”

And it’s true. On her station, everyone knew everyone’s business. Living in its metal remains on Earth, Raven has seen a few familiar faces, but none of them had ever been family, the way the delinquents have become.

“Okay, Raven,” Clarke says, relenting. Her hand reaches up to clasp at Raven’s, and whatever happens with everything else, at least she’s not alone. “Okay.”

It was an awkward silence before Wick clears his throat suddenly. The two women startle, the moment broken.

“Generator’s set, Raven. Clarke, is there anything else you need?”

“First thing’s first,” Raven declares, eying a Grounder skull tilted towards her, half-buried in the dirt outside, “we have to clean this place up. I know you’re going through a delayed emo phase, Clarke, but this is seriously _depressing_.”

* * *

Harper arrives second, with Jasper and Maya in tow. Mount Weather has changed her more drastically than the Landing ever could. None of her friends and family had survived the trip down to Earth, or at least no one they had found, and it was unnerving to see unfamiliar faces bearing guns.

The stray sounds of gunshots in the distance had her constantly flinching away, and towards any of the remaining 100. An attempt to remind her that the guns were here to protect her left her face cold.

“The guards at Mount Weather were there to protect us at first, too. _Sir_.”

It’s not the guns that bother her as much as the people there. They’re everywhere, naïve men and women and children who have barely left the Ark grounds and who know nothing of what the 100 have been through.

The Arkers mill around listlessly without their station designations, and talk more like Mountain Men than _real people_ , like the 100 or even Grounders, and she’s heard about the way they turned against Finn in a heartbeat, the way none of the 100 would, not after what happened with Murphy and Wells and Charlotte.

So Harper walks into the Dropsite with a rifle pointed at their 12 o’clock, solidly in her gunner’s stance, and another slung at her hip. Jasper is focused on their 6 o’clock, and Maya sandwiched between them with her fingers worrying at the hem of her sleeves.

Clarke looks up at their approach, her expression inscrutable.

“We’re in,” Harper tells Clarke, rather than asking for permission. These days, the remaining of the 100 are the only ones who feel comfortable enough to do so, mostly because they’ve seen Clarke drunk on Monty’s moonshine that one time. “The Ark’s a little too clinical for me, and I think a new place is just the thing after Mount Weather.”

Clarke’s mouth twists in a unique expression she saves for when people bring up the Mountain Men, part disgust at what they _dared_ to do, part frustration that Bellamy had told her about the children and innocents inside and _humanized them_ for her.

She knows he did good, reining the _monster inside of her_ before she let it out past the point of no return. She also knows it’s useless to wish she had been at her side earlier, at Ton D.C., when his role had been key to getting their people out.

“Harper, you’re more than welcome here.”

Harper reaches out, her arms raising slowly at first, and then she almost launches herself at Clarke in a grasp that was too tight to be called a hug. Clarke hugs her back, her hands smoothing over Harper’s hair and fluttering lightly against her back where she knew the worst of the wounds were.

Maya’s hanging back, a little behind Jasper, her sweet fluttery dress a little incongruous with newly acquired stains and scrapes.

“You too, Maya, Jasper.”

Clarke smiles from where Harper’s been determinedly squeezing the life out of her.

While Harper tours Maya around the Dropsite— _that’s where Jasper turned me down because he was all gaga over Octavia,_ and, _over there, I think Jasper tried to fight an imaginary Grounder while we were all hallucinating on_ jobi _nuts_ — Jasper enters the ship where Clarke is working on the plans.

She looks up, with a half-smile, but their relationship’s still a little strained after what he’s said right before she escaped from Mount Weather. The guilt’s been eating at Jasper, and talking to Clarke after is putting things right.

“Look, Clarke, I can’t thank you enough for what you and Bellamy did for us at Mount Weather.” He sees the surprise on her face, sees Clarke opening her mouth to cut him off, but he pushes through.

“I know a little of it, but there’s a lot people aren’t telling me about what had happened while… while we were trapped in there.” He can’t imagine what she’s been through but there’s something in the set of her jaw that reminds him of ruin— a bombed bridge and a ring of fire. “You were right back there, and I was being a jackass for not listening to you. And I’m really, really glad that we had people on the outside who cared about a bunch of delinquents enough to bring us back.”

“You were scared, Jasper,” Clarke offers softly. “And we were always uncertain and the Grounders never stopped picking us off, one by one. Mount Weather seemed _safe_.”

“And look where that got us,” he says, a little bitterly. “An alliance with the Grounders and three of our own dead because I couldn’t get my head out of my ass.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, knowing Jasper must be feeling less guilty if his chronic case of melodrama is acting up again. “You helped Bellamy get our people out, Jasper. You, Monty, Harper, Miller… even Maya. You’re all safe now.”

She then turns back to her map of the clearing and continues drawing its boundaries larger without comment.

“Monty might show up too, eventually,” Jasper offers, craning his neck to look over at the sketch. “Mel’s friends with Harper and Monty, so she might show up if he does. Miller’s coming soon, but he’s spending a couple of days with his dad first. But between you and me, I won’t be surprised if his dad tags along too, he’s chafing under Chancellor Griffin.”

He gets a pencil thrown at his head for his efforts.

When Raven arrives from gathering supplies and sees the three new additions to camp, she walks straight up to Jasper with an eyebrow cocked in confusion at Monty’s absence.

“He’s staying with Dad right now until Dad gets his head out of his ass,” Jasper says, pointedly not bothering to keep his voice down, and not talking about either of their fathers.

Raven just laughs and dumps the sticky seaweed and the corpse of some small woodland critter she’d snared into Jasper’s arms. At his offended yelp, she grins, canines flashing in the firelight. “Who’s got seniority in Camp Clarke now, punk?”

Clarke pretends not to hear them.

* * *

As Jasper promised, more and more people start trickling in. To Clarke’s surprise, Amanda, Del, Trebenski, and Jones show up before Miller and Sergeant Miller do. It’s even more surprising that Fox wasn’t with them— she and the group had been near inseparable after they got out of Mount Weather.

Raven and Harper are on supplies duty, which is going faster when the two of them are watching each other’s backs. Maya’s learned about history in her classes at Mount Weather, and she may not have the Earth Skills they teach on the Ark, but it seemed like the leadership on Mount Weather didn’t want them to forget how to build basic structures when they have their chance to reclaim the Ground.

Jasper and Clarke are with her, trying to figure logistics out, but it was slow going. Being a chemical engineer is a far cry from _actual_ engineering, and Clarke is this close to just radioing Raven to _please_ ask Wick to just defect already, when they hear the approach of the group.

“We come in peace,” Jones calls out with a cocky grin, the nerd. “Take us to your leader!”

“That’s so late twentieth century, you dork,” Jasper calls out, scrambling to his feet to greet the new arrivals. “Hell, it was old even then.”

Clarke’s eyes dart to Maya, who only gives her a shrug in reply. Contrary to popular belief, the only mutiny Jasper’s organized recently was on Mount Weather and that was for a good reason.

 “Fox wants to let you know that she wants a place furthest away from the latrines,” Trebenski advises Clarke as the rest of them troop into the Dropship to unload their weapons and supplies. “She’s friends with Monroe, and Monroe wants to keep an eye on Bellamy to keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“Monty and Octavia are pretty good at reeling him in,” Del calls out from inside the Dropship, “but he’s starting to butt heads with Kane again.”

Clarke’s starting to realize that _maybe_ resistance is futile, and at this point all she can do is roll with the punches. “Amanda, you’re from Engineering, right?”

“Born and bred,” the girl in question chirps, “but I’m more familiar with metalwork than wood.” Wordlessly, Jasper waves a sheaf of paper at her in a clear call for help. “Ooh, are those blueprints? Let me see if we can get these babies to work, and I’ll even do it for free as long as I have a bitchin’ cabin.”

They continue to work in silence, the white noise of the boys talking and getting settled around them strangely soothing. There’s a thoughtful pause, the scratching of pencil on the paper Clarke’s scavenged, before Amanda adds, “Also, Clarke, _please_ don’t bunk me near Warren because her girlfriend survived the Ark landing and they get _loud_.”

* * *

No one’s more surprised than Octavia when she leaves from the Ark in a characteristically explosive way.

In the middle of yelling at Bellamy for being _unreasonable_ and _stupid_ and _incredibly reckless when you don’t get laid so just get over yourself already and go kiss and make up_ , she launches herself at him with a war cry that would have made any of the _Trikru_ proud.

A headbutt and a sweep of the leg later, Bellamy is on his back with his baby sister’s knee on his chest, firmly winding him. “ _I_ make my own decisions, Bel,” Octavia tells him with a snarl, tossing a head full of braids. “This is the best way to bridge the gap between the Sky People and the _Trikru_.”

Beyond her boot, Bellamy can see the rest of the Arkers sporadically looking in on their dysfunctional family tableau. Monty and Monroe are stationary audience members, the former wincing in sympathy, and the latter remaining stoic.

Octavia’s expression softens when she sees the look on his face, and Bellamy’s hurting and lost, probably as much as Clarke is, and the two of them don’t play nice with others apart.

“I thought that staying here on the Ark was going to be the best for you, Bellamy, and that you’d eventually get over yourself. But it’s been _weeks_ and you’re still being mopey so I’m going to make my decision, and you’re going to make yours, okay?

“I’m _leaving_ , Bel. I’m going to go to Clarke’s, and maybe I’m going to the _Trikru_ after, but where I go isn’t your choice anymore. It’s mine.”

“O,” Bellamy wheezes, still out of breath.

Octavia just heads for the entrance of the camp, with a careless wave of her fingers, only pausing when she sees Lincoln angled to intercept her. Her lips curl, slow and fond, as she drops the bow in her grasp, leaving her hands free to frame Lincoln’s face and kiss him sweetly.

 “It’s not your decision either, Lincoln.”

“I know, Octavia,” he tells her, and he knew all along.

Octavia gives a low chuckle and reaches up, clasping her hands behind Lincoln’s head.

“And I know you’re still feeling a little guilty about the Bellamy thing, so I’m letting you know that it’s okay to stay behind and look after his stubborn ass, but I’m going to be mad that we’re not going to have sex for a little while.”

Lincoln’s hands, anchored at her hips, twitch reflexively.

“I _know_ , Octavia.”

“ _O_!” Bellamy groans a little more empathically behind them, struggling to get to his feet against a possibly minor concussion Octavia dealt.

“Bel, be a good boy,” chastises Octavia over her shoulder. “Better get him to Jackson, Lincoln. Bellamy doesn’t sound too good.” She untangles her arms from his neck after one last, searing kiss. “ _Linkon, ai na hon you op nodotaim. Ai hod yu in_.”

_Lincoln, I’ll see you later. I love you._

His _Okteivia_ is the most curious thing, he finds, watching her retrieve her bow from the ground. She absorbs his language and his culture like it’s all she’s ever known. A _gona-warrior_ who calls out her love for a _ripa-murderer_ who has not earned it.

“ _An ai, yu_ ,” he responds, softly to himself. _And I, you_.

The corners of Lincoln’s lips struggle not to smile.

* * *

 “Honestly, Clarke, it’s just a matter of time before he comes around.”

Octavia’s beside her, helping Clarke slot the foundations of their fourth shelter in place. The wood structure is neat and practical, able to be insulated against the Earth’s weather patterns, and large enough to house several people. Their new camp is starting to shape up, and she couldn’t be prouder of the effort her people are making.

Amanda and the rest of the engineering crew, including Fox and a few Arkers with family among the 100, are positive that the schematics can be expanded to accommodate larger houses and possibly the inclusion of rooms.

 “I don’t want to talk about this, Octavia. Have you seen Amanda around?”

“Just follow the ponytail, Clarke, it’s pretty distinctive,” Octavia replies, pushing her own mass of brown away from her face.

Before the arrival of the Ark and its supplies— _thank Earth, Clarke, because my hair is natural and killer to maintain without product and Monty can only do so much_ — Amanda had been keeping her hair down. Now though, she’s been keeping her hair in a permanent ponytail, usually with a pencil or three stuck absentmindedly in the knot.

“But Amanda’s not what we’re talking about, Clarke. Bellamy is. Geez, you think he’d get over this already. Raven was the first one here, despite everything with Finn, and no one held a grudge over what _any_ of us did when the _Trikru_ attacked our camp—”

“I killed everyone in Ton D.C., Octavia,” Clarke cuts her off, voice caught in her throat. It’s the fifth time Octavia has brought this up and if this doesn’t get Octavia to stop, then nothing will.

“I nearly got you killed, I actually killed Finn. I lied to Bellamy when he trusts me to have his back, when I trust him to have mine, and I _told_ him I needed him. I had to choose between people who all needed me to come through, and sometimes I don’t even know if I’ve made the right choices, but I’ve saved some people so that has to count for something right?”

Her voice wavers then, but she recovers, looking more vulnerable than Octavia’s ever seen her before.

“So, no. I’m not surprised that he’s not over this, and I don’t think he ever _should_ be. I shouldn’t have led alone, Octavia, but there was no other choice, not when there was nobody else who knew the Ground well enough.”

Octavia’s not stupid. In the pre-war haze, when she tried to confront Clarke after the blonde released the Mountain Man or when Clarke shook her off as she arrived at Ton D.C., she knows that was a Clarke she’s never seen before. Not even when the 100 were isolated from any support, unflinchingly staring down threat of the _Trigedakru_ invasion.

Clarke is their leader, their _heda_. Sure, she’d always been in charge, Clarke was the only one with the guts to ever stand toe to toe with her older brother, but it was different when it was just the delinquents. Before, she had Bellamy to share command, with the rest of them at their backs.

But in the week leading up to their invasion of Mount Weather, she had never been surrounded by so many people and yet been so alone. Whether they meant to or not, everyone had expectations of Clarke without ever giving her the freedom or support to live up to them.

What caused the Mountain Men to fracture their ranks the best was probably keeping Clarke away from her people, and they hadn’t even done that on purpose.

She’s Bellamy’s _brave princess_ and Raven’s _come up with something_ and Abby’s _daughter_ and Lexa’s _strength-not-weakness_ and even Octavia looks to her to _protect Bellamy_ , but who did Clarke look to, in that moment when she only had her head to make her choices, without her heart to guide her?

“You had no choice, Clarke,” counters Octavia fiercely. “You said it yourself, Bellamy was the key to getting everyone out, not just our people. If we let Bellamy die, if we let the Mountain Men know that we had an inside man, then we might never have gotten everyone out in time.”

The intensity in Clarke’s eyes dies down as suddenly as it came, and Clarke looks as tired as she must feel, after waging a war and making choices with no right answers. “I had no choice, and I have to accept that. And that means accepting the consequences. Bellamy… losing Bellamy’s one of them.”

“ _Clarke_.” Octavia wraps her arms around her then. She can give Clarke her support, her love, but she knows that she’s not the Blake that Clarke needs. That’s her brother, who helped Clarke lead however she needed him, even if no one considered him the only leader in his own right, the shadow king to her sun queen.

“I can’t run away from what I’ve done. That means staying the _heda_ of the Sky People. But the Ark doesn’t need a commander right now, they need a Chancellor to oversee them, because they never have to go through the hell we have. And I’m glad they don’t, because that nearly killed us all.”

 “We need you, Clarke, and you needed us, but the Mountain Men took that away from you. But you’re never going to be alone again, not if I have anything to say about it.” Octavia’s embrace tightens, and for a moment she allows herself to contemplate what would have happened if the Mountain Men succeeded in their assassination of Clarke. _“Yu gonplei laik nowe odon_.”

Your fight isn’t over yet.

* * *

Octavia stays in their camp for a full two days before Indra arrives at the camp to retrieve her second.

“Second lesson,” Indra tells the younger woman, “is that seconds come to their generals, _not_ the other way around.” Her eyes watch Octavia, as if judging her and finding her wanting.

Octavia and Del are working in the smokehut to prepare the meat the hunters had managed to take down. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Del stiffen at the arrival of the intimidating general.

It’s brought to her attention then that the 44 rescued from Mount Weather had never had the pleasure to meet her illustrious mentor. “It’s okay, Del, she’s cool,” Octavia assures him.

Seeing the commotion, Clarke heads over with Raven at her left elbow, leaving Miller in charge at the construction site. (The elder, not the younger, who was heading his own hunting party about an hour from the encampment.)

“ _Heya Indra an kru_ ,” Clarke greets the new arrivals with a small smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you all again.”

The negotiations with the _Trigedakru_ continue— _have_ to be continued, even after all that’s happened. But at least Clarke has set up trade between the Ark and the _Trikru_ for both skills and supplies.

Clarke is glad that the choice Lexa and she were forced to make spared the enigmatic _Trikru_ general. Despite their differences, Octavia’s pluck has warmed up some of the most opposed to the alliance. Their cooperation in battle helped keep the peace, and now some of the bravest of the Arkers and the 100 approach her often to request training. It looks like Clarke will have to enter further negotiations for an exchange in people.

The blonde had expected Indra to look for her second soon enough, and Octavia’s temporary relocation to Clarke’s camp has only been to head Bellamy off from igniting the precarious powder keg that is their alliance with the _Trikru_.

“For you,” Indra gives a curt nod, and her warriors toss the bundles they were carrying at Clarke’s feet.

“We don’t have anything to trade,” says Raven steadily, meeting the _Trikru_ general’s eyes. Much of their current efforts have been spent building and gathering, and none of them feel comfortable enough in their current stores to trade.

The furrowing of her brows betrays Clarke’s confusion. “We might have some meat to trade, but our number’s grown recently and we’ll need all the food we can hunt.”

The look Indra sends Octavia this time is full of pity. Familiar with the general’s mannerisms, Octavia only smiles. _My heda is fierce, but she is dumb_.

“ _Heda_ Clarke, you have negotiated trade between the _Skaikru_ and the _Trikru_. The _Skaikru_ has upheld its end, and so too does the _Trikru_.”

“But what we’ve given you is from the Ark,” Clarke argues automatically. “The camp is separate from the Ark, and what you’ve been getting is supplies from them.”

“What the other camp has gained is sufficient.” An efficient hand gesture towards Octavia has the girl handing Del her tools with a strained smile before walking over to stand with the rest of the _Trikru_. “What we bring is for _heda_ Clarke and her _kru_. The day passes, and we must train. _Leidon_ , _heda_ _Clarke_.”

Clarke returns the goodbye absently as Raven says her own goodbyes to Octavia, coupling them with a good-luck punch to the arm. Clarke reaches over to hug Octavia tightly. “Try not to get hurt _too_ much, Octavia,” whispers Clarke, reluctant to let go of more of her own.

Octavia only laughs in response and follows the warriors out of the encampment, waving at everyone she passes on her way out.  “Try not to miss me too much, bitches.”

* * *

A little over a week later, Bellamy ambles into camp a little before sunset, looking for all the world like he meant to be there the whole time. The rest of the 100 are with him, including Octavia, and it’s like filling a hole none of Camp 100 had known was missing.

They all surge towards each other, haven’t been together since the co-dependent delinquents had been wrenched apart by the Mountain Men, and the whoops and yelps all around signal the beginning of a party by the bonfire.

Before she knows it, she’s in his arms and both of them know that it’s not forgiveness, not yet. But at least they’ve acknowledged that they’re stronger together than apart.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I needed you,” Clarke’s voice is muffled against his shoulder. “I needed you.”

They both also know she isn’t talking about the past month after breaking their people out of Mount Weather. She’s calling back to a time before, when she called risking his life _necessary,_ and he agreed to protect _her_ and _their own_.

“I know, Clarke.” Bellamy’s hands wrap around her torso like they fit, while hers reach around his shoulder blades. He’s only a little taller than her, she forgets this because his cocksure personality seems bigger than life sometimes.

They’ve only fit like this one other time, the first time they saw each other again after she had realized how hard it was to be strong without him.

“We can get through this,” promises Bellamy. “It’s a lot easier now, thanks to you.”

It’s not perfect. They still need to talk over their long weeks apart, still need time to stitch together the remains of their family— at once smaller and larger.

But it’s a beginning.

* * *

The aftermath is this.

It’s an inside joke between the remaining 100. They laugh when they remember that, on the First Day of their Landing, Clarke was their _healer_.

She flinches less every time she’s called _princess._ Even before Finn’s death, it’s become less his nickname and more her title among the 100, for better or for worse. They call her that when they remember her armor and war paint, an avenging angel breaking them out.

Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, she trades shifts with whoever’s on watch to sit in that tiny wooden tower above the rest of the camp to watch the moon. She’ll be able to make out where the trees don’t quite blanket the forest, and she’ll think _destroyer of worlds_.

Clarke may have to bear the consequences of her decisions, but if that means putting up with them— the remaining 100— _alive_ , then it’s a burden she’ll gratefully carry.

She is, after all, their _leader_.

**Author's Note:**

> A fic in response to everyone’s _how is Bellamy going to forgive Clarke?_ by asking the real question: _how is Clarke going to forgive herself?_


End file.
